


Tomorrow Never Knows

by Metathesio



Category: Samurai 7 (Anime)
Genre: Friendship, Kyuzo - Freeform, Memories, Nostalgia, Past, Red Bird - Freeform, Samurai, Samurai7, Shimada Kanbei - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:49:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24411598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metathesio/pseuds/Metathesio
Summary: SEQUEL TO RED BIRD. A short moment spent side by side with Kyuzo hints Kambei about the resolute and mysterious past of the red-clad samurai. Two years after the war, Kambei finally meets the red-headed sword-smith who carries Kyuzo's shadow in her wake.
Relationships: Kyuzo/OC
Kudos: 2





	1. A NICE MEMORY

**Author's Note:**

> (1) Note! This is set two years after my S7 fanfic 'Red Bird'.
> 
> (2) Note! This first chapter takes place during the time the Seven Samurai are getting ready for their first battle alongside Kana Village.
> 
> (3) It's 2020 but this fic was originally published in 2012 on fanfiction.net. I recently rewatched the anime and in a bout of nostalgia re-read all my fics and decided to post the follow ups to Red Bird here. I hope fans of S7 are still around! ;w; What a great show! And excuse the bad writing from 8 years ago aha...

They were trying to be brave.

And although they pretended more than they breathed through their hearts, the villagers of Kana village had succeeded in gaining Kambei's respect. He accorded it to them, although he knew just as the rest of the Samurai that things would unfold much more quickly than expected, and that bravery had to be maintained. Even if it was make-belief.

The dark-skinned samurai watched, crossed-armed, as the men of Kana village marched away to their different duties upon this bleary morning, maybe off to assist Sichiroji in putting up a defence or Heihachi with his witty plans for seemingly ingenious weapons, or maybe they were off to tremble under Kyuzo's impeccable glare. Kambei knew the villagers were scared, starved and doubtful. Weak and frail, too. But whatever had to be done had to be done quickly. It was not as if they had a grip over time, and tomorrow never knew. They had arrived in Kana village just a few days ago, but the Nobuseri could pop up impromptu style any time, and they were bound to discover that Samurai had arrived to patch things up soon enough, too.

Kambei exhaled and spotted Kyuzo a few paces away, always so straight and earnest, eternally cloaked of his red trench coat, his red gaze often shifting from an intimidating glare to a killing stare, depending on the turner of events and his own locked up thoughts. No one, not even Kambei, could properly picture what churned behind the blond swaying hair and crimson red eyes, although everyone knew it was better not to succumb to the temptation of prodding the samurai's limits.

Even now, within the team, Kyuzo was unattainable.

He might have joined and followed them, but Kambei knew that he, himself, was the sole reason Kyuzo was here, and that the blond would obey only if it brought him a step closer to their promised battle. The red-coated samurai was untameable, and Kambei knew that the end of the war would be his death. He had already whole-heartedly accepted that the younger samurai was far superior to him in skills. There was no question about who would win if they duelled with all the time of the world in their hands.

And thus he had taken upon a habit of staring at the blond man from the corner of his eyes. It was a habit born from this rare amount of curiosity he still possessed, even though the intrepid succession of adventures he had endured during his life had worn out the rest of it. Kyuzo's appearance had re-awakened a dormant interested of Kambei's, and there were days like these when the old samurai couldn't refrain the envy of trying to have a conversation with the younger warrior. He knew he could never disrupt Kyuzo's silent lifestyle, because then again it was what made Kyuzo such an excellent fighter; he was able to shush the qualms of the world around him and tear through them with impeccable sustaincy. Unaffected. Poised. Nothing in his gaze ever betrayed his emotions, but sometimes, just sometimes, Kambei thought he could detect something.

It often happened when they were having a discussion, among villagers or themselves; Kyuzo tended to stay apart from the circle of chatter (or simply not show up), leaning against something or sitting wherever he could, crossed-legged. His red eyes were fixed on the chatting people and his mouth stayed that same thin line, and it looked as if he was registering every single word and movement. Which he was probably doing. But there were times when Kambei could detect a certain… disinterest in his gaze. A lassitude that betrayed Kyuzo's partial or non-existant attention to whatever was being discussed, and sometimes, just sometimes, Kyuzo would look away. His head would tilt just the slightest, an imperceptible movement from afar, and his gaze would swivel down, unfocused, loosing itself to the thoughts in his head. Kambei wondered what exactly Kyuzo could be thinking about, and if perhaps the contents of his thoughts were joyful or not.

.

It's when the sky had turned to fire and cast smoky shadows over the rice fields that the Seven Samurai returned to Kanna village, each of them exhausted by the long day of work. They were exiting the forest, the lacework of leaves above them rattled by the warm wind. Kikuchiyo and Heihaci were walking in front, chatting loudly about whatever, the metal-clad samurai spicing up the conversation with his apparel of wide gestures and noise. Gorobei and Sichiroji were explaining something to Katsuhiro, the young warrior nodding solemnly, registering every bit of the words as if his life depended on it. Kambei was stuck between the two groups, walking alone and with his arms crossed, while Kyuzo was following in the back, as usual with a few paces separating him from the rest.

No one was paying attention to him except for Kambei, who could not resist staring at him from the corner of his eyes, his head slightly turned over his shoulder (he was pretending to be listening to Gorobei). Instead he was eying the blond samurai once again, and this time he wasn't certain why. He was surprised, though, when Kyuzo suddenly stopped, turned around and started walking back the way they had come, without anyone except Kambei noticing this change. The older Samurai kept on walking and turned his head to stare back at the red heads in front of him.

Later, when the sky had darkened, Kyuzo still wasn't back, although it was possible that he was but simply perched somewhere no one could spot him. Kambei walked out into the open, with the priestess popping her head out through the screen with an inquiring look.

"Do you need something, Great Samurai?" she asked, her large brown eyes blinking. She was a sweet girl, petal-faced and attentionate, but tonight Kambei sought someone else.

"Just going out for a walk. Don't worry about me, Kirara" he answered with a nod before walking away.

At night the forest was an entirely different kingdom, damped by sullen and peaceful silence. He wasn't certain where he was going or how he would find the red-coated samurai, but he kept on walking, finding the cliffs and keeping to them until he spotted a figure seated on a large boulder. Kambei took a step back, retreating back into the shadows. He leaned one shoulder against the trunk of the tree, eying Kyuzo from afar. There was no doubt the blond had one of the finest array of senses, but he'd call out (or rather send the tip of his blade) if he wanted Kambei to stop creeping on him. And thus the older samurai remained there, seemingly unnoticed.

Kyuzo was looking into the distance, the horizon traced by the last rays of the sunset. His blond hair was being swayed by the wind, and he sat erect, with one blade resting on his lap. Could he have been sitting like that ever since he reached the place? Kambei could only guess the younger samurai had come to watch the sunset. The spot was indeed perfect, opened above the vast sea of trees, no mountains rising to hide the horizon.

 _It seems you have a taste for fine things in life,_ Kambei thought with a little smile. He kept on watching until Kyuzo's fingers curled around the pommel of his sword and he lifted the blade in front of him. He twisted the blade around, as if examining it, and ran his fingers over the hamon. Carefully. Observing the dents in the blade, if there were any, but Kambei doubted that. Then, out of nowhere, a chorus of birds broke from the trees, surely frightened by whatever nocturne predator. The loud sound of their cackles startled Kambei, while the red-coated samurai simply looked up as the flock up bird passed over his head, one bird even clipping his shoulder. The reflection of their wings and flight flashed through his blade, and when he noticed it the red-clad warrior smiled.

It was a an unusual thing that of seeing Kyuzo smiling, even if that smile was more of a smirk, a gentle smirk still, and Kambei thought having imagined it all. It's not as if from this distance he could see clearly, and his eyes were getting old… But he felt compelled to take step forward, and the moment he did his feet crunched a few dead leaves on the ground. The red-clad samurai's head shot up and around, whatever smile having traced his lips vanished and his dark eyes piercing once again.

Kambei felt slightly guilty about intruding and destroying what could have been Kyuzo's sole moment of reflected personal happiness, but he clung tightly to the belief that maybe he could see more of just that, even if he respected the man's reclusive ways.

Kyuzo stared at him with his crimson orbs, no apparent expression crossing his face. The relaxed feeling in his limbs was gone, and he was once again the acute soldier taking notice of everything around him.

Kambei started towards the younger samurai, brushing up an apology in his head as he advanced. But Kyuzo didn't seem to really want one; he turned his head back towards the horizon and sheathed his sword in the pommel fastened to his coat. Kambei came to stand beside him silently, following his gaze to the line of trees and rice fields bellow.

Strangely, it seemed that tonight their fateful agreement, promise and deathwish didn't resonate much. They were but two comrades (at least Kambei liked to think they were comrades) enjoying the cool soiree. That's why Kambei decided to cut themselves some slack, and started on a topic very not related to their mission.

"I hope you sometimes have some nice things to think about, Kyuzo," he said. The red-clad samurai said nothing, but Kambei felt his body flinch a little bit, or rather, it was this kind of pulse that meant that some kind of answer he didn't want to share had crossed his mind. He went on, decided to taunt the matter a bit. It was a nice matter to discuss, one he seldom chose himself. "These pleasant things a man can remember sometimes do good to the heart. Nice memories." Kambei fixed his dark gaze on the blond man. "Was that a nice memory, just now?"

The wind whispered for an answer. Kyuzo's lips stayed shut as the same thin line he carried everywhere. Feeling slightly worn out, Kambei sat down beside the boulder with a sigh. He crossed his legs and arms and looked out towards the distance.

He wanted a bit more than usual to hear Kyuzo speak. Kyuzo always said the strict minimum, just everything that was necessary to go forth, but not much more. Kambei did not believe that the younger samurai had come to this point of his life with the same constant, barren expression. He must have, just like anybody else on this world, had friends, a family, people he cared for and people he betrayed and that had betrayed him in return.

Blank canvases did not exist, Kambei fervently believed. Kyuzo might have a clamped soul, but the illusion of that blank canvas was just that; an illusion.

Under that layer of white paint, surely there had to be streaks of black and red. And who knows what else.

"Why do you think we are doing this?" Kambei asked after a while.

"Doing what?" was the husky reply. Kyuzo had propped a leg and rested an arm over the knee, and he was looking a bit boredly over the cliff.

"Fighting, taking lives, defending people, defeating others." Kambei mused over his words a bit. "Sometimes I wonder if I could have been equally content with a little farm house and my own patch of rice to harvest."

"Because you are content?"

When Kambei turned his head to look at the other samurai he had a set of crimson eyes piercing into him, beneath a fringe of blond hair swaying gently in the breeze. There was no sign of mockery or disbelief in that red gaze, but Kambei couldn't help but ponder on the words. "Yes, I am content," he finally said. "Truth be told, I couldn't imagine myself staying idle when things like justice and freedom are so carelessly shredded."

"And for another truth to be told," Kambei continued, "I'm honoured to fight alongside men as talented as you."

Kyuzo didn't reply, only outstretched and contracted his fingers of the arm proper on his knee, as if he was discreetly trying to reach for something invisible and ethereal before giving up.

"Kyuzo."

"Hmm?"

"What will you do when the war will be over and you'll have my head on a platter?" Kambei asked with a sly smile.

"I'll leave."

"And go where?"

No response.

"Somewhere nice?"

"Perhaps."

"Does that memory belong to that somewhere? By the look you had on your face, it must be a nice place."

He didn't expect the red samurai to response, but surprisingly he did, and his voice was a scale softer than usual.

"It is a nice place."

They spent a few moments in silence, while Kambei thought about how his absence in Kanna must already have been noticed. Kyuzo's thoughts remained a secret.

"You didn't respond to my question. Why are you doing this?"

Kambei had slowly taken a wicked pleasure in questioning the red-samurai. The fact that Kyuzo was still seated on that boulder and not trailing away was a good sign.

"Why are _you_ doing this?" Kyuzo retorted after a while.

"I told you, I care for justice and freedom."

"My reason isn't any more than that, either."

"Oh, you're such a liar, Kyuzo."

"So are you, Kambei."

A moment of silence. Then Kambei burst out laughing, and a tiny smile appeared on Kyuzo's face as well.

They didn't speak any more for a long time, allowing the halcyon night to envelope them like a blanket. It's when a call broke the silence of the forest that they both flicked their heads behind their shoulders.

"It is Kirara. She must be looking for us."

"For you."

Kambei slowly got to his feet, sighing and taking the opportunity to stretch.

The call came from the forest again, a soft sound stretched with a tone of worry.

"She will mourn you, when I am done with you," Kyuzo whispered.

The words took Kambei aback, and a soft, sad expression settled in his face. "Indeed, she probably will. Is there someone who will mourn you, Kyuzo, when you die one day?"

Again, Kambei didn't expect Kyuzo to answer. Instead he turned around and set out to find Kirara.

"There is only one person I'd want to be mourned by, but I'd prefer she not mourn me at all."

Kambei stopped in his tracks. Kyuzo was still seated on that boulder, and maybe he would remain there, perched like a bird, for the rest of the night.

"And who would that be, Kyuzo?" Kambei whispered. He heard an amused scoff, but the words he heard next were filled with an emotion he deciphered only a long time afterwards.

"Hair as red as autumn's leaves."

Kirara was calling.

He turned away.

The emotion was longing, but he didn't know that just yet.

.

It was true that it had never been a matter of who died, but of who died first. Kambei had heard these words many times on the battlefield, uttered from superiors, comrades and enemies; a mantra. He had been taught, just like any good soldier was taught, not to dwell too long on the bodies left behind. He couldn't after all carry them all, and if he did, he would drown under their weight.

But now, as he held Kyuzo's body in his arms and felt the spasms of pain rippling through the younger Samurai's limbs as if they were his own, he could not chase away the fervent, silent plea hitting against the barrier of his mind. _You were supposed to finish me off. We made a promise. Everything is going wrong._

"But... do not forget... we still have a... score to settle..."

Kambei stared down in Kyuzo's red eyes. This wasn't how things were supposed to happen, _damnit!_

"I will never forget," Kambei managed to say, fighting against the desire to tell Kyuzo to shut up and hang in there. He kept his gaze glued to the crimson orbs, pressing the younger samurai's body tighter to his own. _Of all the people who should have died…_

"I'll be waiting..."

And yet, and yet! In this split moment when the surroundings around them were blowing up, roaring, screeching, Kambei could not manage with the part of himself that wanted to yell for Kyuzo to keep living, and the other that wanted to let him go with the proper promise of reunion.

And Kambei knew, as he looked at Kyuzo's pale moving lips, that even if the words he was uttering were addressed to him, that red gaze…

in Kanna..."

… was for someone else.

He felt Kyuzo's body heave one last time in his arms, and then those red eyes were seeing nothing at all.

"Soon, my friend, I will follow the same path," Kambei said at last, the words like blazing charcoal down his throat.


	2. THE SAMURAIKO

When the war was over, the people of Kana were happy at last. They had earned it, Kambei thought, and they were the sole winners of the battle. The rice fields were theirs again, so were their hearts, and they were free to live their lives without the threats from giants.

Kambei did not want them to part, but Katsushiro, sword in hand, turned around and promised he would seek to further his understanding of the bushido. Sichiroji went as far as the Firefly Inn, and Kambei could not ask of his old friend to stay a minute longer away from his love. And despite Shichiroji's intent pleading for Kambei to stay at the inn, where there was all to lead a comfortable life, the dark-skinned Samurai only shook his head and said he still felt like walking forth. Well, maybe not forth, but surely around. He'd be in the area, he promised the younger man, and off he went again, this time sword-less and not as Samurai, but just as a wanderer. The thought pleased him, although any pleasing thought condescended into grimmer ones.

Gorobei, so eager and warm. Heihachi, young and imaginative. Kikuchiyo, boastful and yet so loyal. Kyuzo, quiet and admirable. He missed the amazing friendships he had successfully woven with these men, but then again he was used to the feeling of loss.

Kambei thought he had gotten used to seeing people die around him, but he thought as well that he had grown tired, and also frustrated, of letting go. He told himself that this time would be the last, and quietly he swore that his days of great odysseys were over.

.

Kambei met Masamune again two years later during one of Kambei's rare visits to Kougakyo, and he could not say how well things had improved since the fall of the bandit's dynasty and the emperor's rule. He hadn't been around to see or care, and he found himself being pulled to the sort of places where the echo of large and bustling cities was reduced to a murmur on the wind.

He had come back to Kougakyo to meet with Sichiroji, who had wed Yukino and now led a peaceful life administrating the popular Firefly Inn. He and the beautiful inn keeper now had a girl child of two years, although already awaiting another. Kambei found Masamune working late in his workshop, the place still the same cavernous den filled with metallic paraphernalia. The short man was less than surprised to see the dark-skinned man standing alone in his doorway. After a few minutes, they sat together sipping lukewarm tea.

"Masamune?" Kambei asked eventually, resting his cup on the dusty floor. A variety of tools and objects lay scattered around them, and Kambei distracted himself by picking up the pieces of steel and iron and weighting them in his hands, albeit completely disinterested. The old war veteran chewed on his pipe while the dark-skinned Samurai pondered for words, offering Kambei a look that implied he didn't need to feel reserved for discussion.

"I happen to be looking for someone. A woman."

"A woman, eh? What is it that makes you run after women now, Shimada Kambei? Not that it's too late. You want someone to set you up on a blind date?"

Kambei smirked, flexing his fingers. "Actually, she happens to be a connection of someone I know." Even though there was no reason for Kambei to hide it, he couldn't quite voice the strange idea that he was looking for one of Kyuzo's relations. Or acquaintances. Or enemies. "And the only thing I know is that she has red hair, red as autumn's leaves. And perhaps something to do with the making of weapons."

Masamune's eyes stared at him blankly for a long minute, a frown creasing his brow, as if he wasn't too sure what he was supposed to do with the given information. Kambei was certain the veteran would end up shrugging, saying he'd only known one redhead, and that it had been a very loud and annoying one at that. But Masamune's eyes suddenly lit up in a strange way, and he removed the pipe from his mouth, allowing the smoke to waft on his lips. "I've known many red-heads in my life," the old man said, discretely revoking the memory of the machine Samurai he had built, "and also many artisans and sword smiths. But you, Shimada Kambei… you are looking for Omine Tengotori".

The name rung strangely in the little room, like an echo that leaves invisible pulsations running through one's body. The samurai frowned. "I feel like I've heard that name before."

"You might have," Masamune said with a grin, but didn't add anything more. He was staring into space, lost in thoughts.

"Anything you could tell me about this Omine?" Kambei pressed, letting his impatience get the better of him.

"She does indeed have hair as red as autumn's leaves. Very red. In the sunset, almost like fire. I've known her since she was but a little tiny child, standing fiercely beside her father, with whom I fought alongside the war." He sighed.

"If the name Tengotori seems familiar, it's because it's the same famous Tengotori family of sword-smiths. They have been developing and producing some of the best weapons in the country for centuries, and Omine's father, Masaya, was one of the craftsmen to introduce the crafting technique for unbreakable katanas, the perfect weapon against the Nobuseri.

Masaya's wife died shortly after giving both to her last child and little girl, and Masaya was left with two children to bring up in those rough times that you and I remember well. Not to mention that the family tree was reaching an end, with Omine being probably the last of the Tengotoris. I'm pretty sure, but no one ever confirmed it.

I remember in the old days, when Masaya would bring his two children here, and little Omine would fumble with everything, while her brother walked in her trail and made sure she didn't get hurt. They were lovely children, and just like tradition claimed, both Omine and Yuudai were taught how to craft beautiful, strong weapons. I have no doubt Omine was the most talented of the two."

Masamune stopped then, biting on his pipe with slight frustration.

"But, well, fate took a toll. You know how that goes. Just like I did, Masaya and Yuudai went off to the war, leaving Omine behind to look after their shop and home. None of them came back. The poor girl had indeed become the last of them all, and she took it with such a brave face. But the family's name faded a bit from people's minds. Omine refused to sell the shop, or do anything else than keep on smiting and working, upholding her family's memory. For the years that followed, she kept on producing exquisite weapons, the kind you weren't able to find after the decline of Samurai and the rising of the Nobuseri. She came to visit me, some times, but rarely. Truth be told, I didn't know what was going on in her life for the many years that followed the end of the war. I presume she shut herself down in that big house of hers, and kept drilling and working her hands, like a bad habit gone addictive. And well, I, hmmm…"

Masamune stopped talking there, taking the opportunity to fill his lungs with some more smoke.

"She's gone now, Shimada Kambei."

"What do you mean, gone?" Kambei asked, still registering the tale the old man had shared. "Do you mean dead?"

"No, simply that; gone. One day she closed the shop and left, and never came back. Never saw her in town no more. She went off, you see? She came to say goodbye quickly. Her scars looked unusually big, that day."

"Scars."

"The girl had two scars on her face, running across her left cheek and criss-crossing beside her nose. She never told me how she got them, but it must have been a pretty big fight. Such a pretty face, ruined."

And the image of that pretty face was chased as he exhaled smoke once again.

.

When he could take no more the smell the smoke, Kambei excused himself and went to stand outside Masamune's workshop, the lights above flickering with a quiet fizz. Kambei felt a lassitude, an unexplained disappointment, even sadness, at yet another tale of someone who had left, gone, and disappeared without a trace. Left behind another spot of negative space.

"I doubt she has returned," Masamune told him, "but if you feel like taking a long walk, I'll tell you where her shop still stands."

Kambei had thanked and told him that perhaps he would go, since he had all the time in the world anyway.

.

The house was dark and seemed rooted into the earth, overgrown by climbing plants, its windows darks. The front double doors seemed stiff, heavy and imposing upon the steps, and it felt like the very assertion of them never opening again had been sewn into every fibre of the rigid wood, and despite his envy not to do so, Kambei climbed the front steps to rest a hand on the door and pull the handle. Of course, the doors did not budge.

Dark clouds were gathering overhead, casting the tall frame of the ancient house into shadows, and Kambei let out a small chuckle as wind and the smell of thunder arose. He should have known that anything related to Kyuzo would be harder than that to uncover. During the past two years, it had seemed to Kambei that every last trace of Kyuzo's memory was fleeting in every direction the wind blew, escaping discovery at all cost. This house neither told nor whispered him the secrets he sought, and as far as Kambei was concerned, it was just another extension of the dark and deep forest surrounding him. The red-headed girl would have to remain a myth a while longer.

.

He thought then of visiting Sichiroji, and on his way back Kambei found himself on a deserted road of sand and pebbles, sided by quaint meadows growing sandy as the desert approached and the forests retreated behind him. Dusk had come and gone, bathing the sky in pale shades of cotton blue and violet, with a faint streak of gold and red at the horizon where the last glimpses of the setting sun were still visible. The whole was being chased by the dark storm clouds coming from the east, and je knew rain would be upon him soon. Kambei came upon a single village, a small community tucked between the hills and valleys of this region, but avoided going into it. Hands crossed and tucked in the warm folds of his white robes, he walked on as the sky dimmed above his head.

Far, far beyond him, he saw moving human shapes, and heard voices. Villagers returning, he presumed as he kept his slow pace and walked in their direction. They were blocking his path anyway.

As he neared them, the voices became louder, brisker, and sharper. Kambei frowned and uncrossed his arms as he tasted conflict between the three men. The two facing the third shouted something, and in their hands appeared blades. The third, who had his back turned to Kambei, seemed little impressed. When the enemy's blade stroke, the boy was quick to counter-attack.

The fight took merely a few seconds as Katsushiro twisted his way between the two men with a graceful block and swipe of his katana, pulling out one foot to trip the first of the two rascals, and then threatening the cut the other man's neck. The attacker froze as he felt the tip of Katsushiro's blade on his neck, but he tried nevertheless to fiddle his way out. He received a nice twist of the arm and ended on the ground behind his pal as Katsushiro shielded his katana, and finally realized he was being watched.

It took the boy a moment to make out Kambei's face in the dimness, but when he did, all the boyish allure he'd carried two years prior returned like a flood.

"S-Sensei?"

Kambei offered him a few sturdy claps, while the attackers, at the sight of the tall stranger, painfully rose to their feet and made a run for it. Katsushiro's head twisted between them and Kambei, before he renounced on giving chase and simply turned around to face the older man.

"Katsushiro, it's been a while."

He had changed much, and at the same time not really. His green hair was longer, still tied in the same clipped pony tail, and he had not ceased fancying those oversized coats. The only difference was that the one he wore now fit him better. Yet, Katsushiro's face had become sharper and it had lost that boyish roundness. He had grown a few inches as well. Despite his apparent happiness, he quickly regained his composure. By the way he had handled the two other men, it was evident that he'd fought many other battles after leaving Kanna village. He still even had the sword. Kambei couldn't refrain from smiling fondly at the sight of the weapon tied at the boy's waist.

"I see you've been taking good care of it," Kambei said, and Katsushiro straightened, placing a hand on the katana's scabbard.

"Of course I have, Sensei. I, well, it has served me well."

Kambei began walking, and Katsushiro immediately followed.

"What have you been up to, boy?"

"I've been traveling," Katshushiro answered, trying to contain his wide smiles and the note of excitement in his words. "And lending help where it is needed most."

"What of your goal to pursue the Bushido?"

"I've joined a few groups of Samurai from time to time, travelling with them, studying their ways. Ever since the fall of the Nobuseri, more Samurai have begun to appear, Sensei. I've heard they even built a grand dojo somewhere. I-I was… planning on checking it out."

"Do it," Kambei replied, and they fell into content silence as they walked.

"Where are you headed, Sensei?" Katsushiro asked eventually, eying the older man.

"I thought of paying Sichiroji a visit. Feel like accompanying me?" Kambei inquired, and of course Katsushiro accepted.

.

Sichiroji's shout of happiness spiralled as he ran down the inn's set of stairs to catch the two Samurai in a tight embrace, wailing something about his pained heart. At some moment Kambei deduced it was time to save Katshushiro from being choked, and he pulled Sichiroji away by the sleeve.

"So glad to see you two," the blond chuckled, promising everyone sake.

"I've been hearing about you tons, Katsu," Sichiroji added as they all sat on top of the stairs, sipping the warm liquor. Warm colourful lights flashed overheard, and the sound of laughter and music echoed from behind the thin walls of the inn. It was always so crowded, and joyful.

"I listen to my client's blabber, you known," Sichiroji continued. "On multiple occasions I heard them talking about that _handsome_ young _warrior_ going from village to village helping out whoever he can. And I know it's you because they all mention your green hair and that brave face of yours."

Katsushiro blushed, nearly spitting out the sake. "I-I just try to do my best."

"I bet that you could beat Kambei to a pulp," the blond joked, and Katsushiro's sip stuck in his throat. "I-I couldn't possibly," he said through coughs, and after a while he rested his cup and took out his katana. "Sensei-"

"Just call me Kambei, Katsushiro."

"Kambei… I-I've been meaning to return your katana to you-"

Kambei lifted a hand, shaking his head. "I gave it to you, didn't I?"

"Y-yes, but..."

"I don't have use for it anymore. You've been fairing up with it well, boy."

Sichiroji cupped his cheek in his palm. "What _have_ you been doing, old friend? No more battles, no more wars? Have you found yourself a nice little home and settled with a pretty girl?"

"I might do just that," Kambei replied, and Sichiroji chuckled. He couldn't, for the life of his, imagine the older samurai adopting such a passive way of living. Kambei, on the other hand, kept quiet about his recent trips back and forth across the country, searching for a ghost.

It was then that Sichiroji's head perked up and a few moments later they all heard Yukino's voice. "There goes my lovely wife!" he said.

"Geez, at least stay the night!"

Up ahead, descending from another wing of the inn, was Yukino. Swollen-bellied with a second child and beautiful as always, she put her hands on her hips as a second shape appeared, pulling behind a horse.

"I really need to go, Yukino," the other woman said, stepping out from the shadows cast by the angled roof. She turned her back to Yukino and stroked the horse's cheek. Seated on the stairs, Kambei froze, and his eyes widened a fraction.

"At least allow me to braid your hair," Yukino said with a pout, and Omine turned to glance at her.

"I like it this way."

"There was a time when you absolutely loathed having it down. You said it always came in your way."

"Not anymore," the red head answered gently, and she moved to inspect her saddle.

Yukino offered her a sad smile. "You never come around here anymore. It's been nine months since the last time you showed up, and before that it was more than a year!"

Omine shrugged, and Yukino's pout increased. Then she smiled, cocking her head. "You need a man! That would keep you in one place. You'd find one, if only you stayed for a little bit."

Omine stiffened, then rolled her eyes. "They are waiting for me, I need to go back."

"Who exactly? I don't even know what you do anymore. You closed your shop, and ran away."

Omine had already placed her foot in stirrup, murmuring under her breath: "Yes, I guess I did run away."

Meanwhile, Kambei had risen. Katsushiro and Sichiroji watched him descend the steps with confusion and mild-interest, respectively, while Yukino up ahead had grabbed the redhead's hands, trying to bargain for a stay.

"You've been so hectic, you really need to take a break," she cooed sweetly, and Omine's brow furrowed. She was about to say something when her eyes lifted and her parted lips froze, and Kambei stopped a few paces away. He took in the sight of the woman, with her curled locks, as red as autumn's leaves. They fell in a thick waterfall past her breasts, and her eyes were that of a glaring green. Two large scars ran on her right cheek and criss-crossed beside the bridge of her nose, just as Masamune had described.

Yukino turned around, blinked, and Omine took a step to the side. In her eyes there was defiance first, then a spark of recognition, and then defiance again.

"Omine…Tengotori, I presume?" Kambei whispered, and something in the woman shifted.

"Shimada Kambei," she said quietly without a hint of hesitation, as if she had known him all her life.

As they stared each other down, Yukino glanced from one face to the other, before catching the sight of Sichiroji and Katsushiro approaching. With a gesture of the hand a smile, Sichiroji summoned her back to his side.

"Do you two know each other?" He asked cheerfully as he laced his arm around Yukino's waist.

Kambei's eyes went briefly to his friend, then returned to rest on the woman's. Something new had appeared in her gaze. It was something daring, something that dared him to ask what he wanted to know. There was something about those green eyes that was unsettling; in a similar way that Kyuzo's red gaze had been intimidating.

He couldn't say anything, and eventually she spoke in his stead.

"No, we haven't met," she stated. She turned back around, meaning again to climb into the saddle, but this time Kambei stopped her. He couldn't let her just ride away, now, could he?

"You were a friend of Kyuzo's."

She struggled with a buckle before giving up, and he saw the tension ripple through her body, then cause her shoulders to drop an inch. "'Friend'? That's a strange term to use with anything related to Kyuzo."

She turned around, one hand pressed against the saddle. Her green eyes bore into him. "I wasn't a friend. What about you?"

He crossed his arms slowly, feeling the company's pressing gaze in his back. "I don't know," he replied. "You didn't make friends with Kyuzo. You accompanied him in whatever he did."

She looked away, and he saw her fingers tap gently on the horse's neck. He realized then how ridiculous his drive to finding her had been. How ridiculous it was to still feel so immensely curious. But he wanted to know something. He wanted to hear his name pronounced. Anything to prove his memory hadn't died. That he had existed as a different man in other places and among other people.

When she looked back at him, he knew she had given in as well. "We haven't met, but I know you. I know you're the one he went after. I know he joined you and your troupe, and that you fought for whatever cause it was that you believed in. I waited a long time, but eventually I understood he had died. He died with you, didn't he?"

The words came out bitter, but she suppressed any tremor on her lips. "He did." he replied, wondering if he should add that he was sorry.

A smirk appeared on her face. And then there it was, what he'd always wanted to hear. Bittersweet words.

"He would have killed you, if you'd fought."

"Yes," he answered quietly. Somewhere the music from the inn roared louder, bringing with it the echo of voices and fun, carefree times.

She took a step forward, and her hand went to her side. The katana unsheathed with a clear swishing noise, and Omine lifted her chin. "Fight me, then. Fight me the way you would have fought him."

For the first time, both Sichiroji and Katsushiro spoke, the blond with an urgent _"Woahhh easy there folk"_ while Katsushiro stepped forward, crying out. "Sensei!" He eased his way between Kambei and Omine, glaring at the red-head. Kambei smiled, and placed a hand on the young warrior's shoulder.

"Katsushiro, would you mind lending me your sword this once?"

The boy's lips parted, and he glanced again at the woman, but the look on Kambei's face shushed his following protest. "Of… course…?" he answered as he handed him the sword.

"I prefer the inn's courtyards free of battles!" Sichiroji interrupted, frantically waving his hands in a gesture that failed to be appeasing.

"Come on, it will be enjoyable," Kambei said with a smirk, and Sichiroji shook his head fervently.

"Not if your corps ends up as floral decoration, no way"

"Consider it as a favour from you to me."

"Kambei, no w-"

But already he had walked away, Omine following his steps, and Sichiroji face-palmed. "I don't want to spend the night cleaning a mess!" he grumbled, and Yukino patted his shoulder. "At least I got her to stay for a while longer?"

But whatever they said next was lost to Kambei's ears, as he turned around, and there she was. Those green eyes stared at him blankly, a breeze buffeting a curly strand of air across her scarred cheek. She gripped the pommel of her katana more tightly, halting a few meters from him.

He could not, for the life of his, have ever guessed what strange thoughts raced behind that gaze of her. He smiled at her, feeling the weight of the sword in his hands. Two years had passed since he he'd held any kind of weapon, but the soft pommel felt familiar in his palm. The boy had taken good care of the weapon, and the blade gleamed in the warm lights of the inn.

To fight, like he had promised he would. Omine remained still, though, as Kambei looked over her shoulder to gaze at the trio standing away.

"Would you prefer giving up?" she murmured, and Kambei's gaze shifted back to her face.

"I _am_ feeling rather rusty," he answered, carving a circle with a swift flash of the blade.

A ghost of a smirk on her lips. "I wouldn't mind sparing your life."

The tip of his sword fell to the ground, and he watched as it sunk into the soft soil. He hadn't spared in two years, and he knew nothing about his opponent. She could be a brilliant warrior, but she could be equally pathetic. And yet: someone who made swords couldn't possibly be clueless at how to use one. And finally, she had known Kyuzo. That couldn't necessarily be a good thing for him.

"You wouldn't be having fun much, if it was that easy to take me down," Kambei said, and the smirk emerged onto her face. She did not bother wasting another second, and soon her blade was clinging against his, and Kambei's feet began to move.

Her strikes were strong, furious, and fierce. Considerable strength ran through her blows, and it took Kambei by surprise as he felt the pommel of his katana dig in his skin and the force of the hits transfer from his blade and into his arms. He was forced to take a step backwards as he counter-attacked her two fluid strikes, but then he remembered.

And it didn't feel like two years no more.

Naturally, they fell in a dance, of arched swings and strikes, pushing each other in a circle. The red-head fought low, always on the tip of her toes as she delivered a combination of strikes, always managing to circle him, pushing him into invisible corners. She was swift and limber, and her unsettling eyes never left his. The blades between them seemed like a breeze of fresh air, and a narrow smirk pulled onto his lips.

A swift jerk of his wrist and he locked her blade and her hands, sending them aside.

Omine took a step back, her blade cutting an arch through the air. Her chest heaving with each pant, Kambei saw his own reflection in her eyes.

"He trained you," he breathed between two breaths, falling into a new stance. He couldn't deny the adrenaline flowing through his veins, and the joy emanating from it. Omine's brow twitched. "Not quite," she murmured, before charging again.

Yet, he recognized that frantic swiftness in her style. That way she had of never leaving him space to breathe or to regain his composure. She wasn't, though, as precise as the red-clad Samurai had been. Kyuzo's strikes had been sharp and deadly, while the woman used uncanny strength to fuel her blows. Her blows were wide and wild. But she had imagination.

Suddenly, she found an opportunity to get close to him, and her palm pressed squarely against his chest. He saw a flurry of red strands, framing a pair of green eyes. He was momentarily lost in that glare of hers as she looked up to meet his gaze. Lost in the words that flashed through her sight. And then she was swiping a leg under his feet, pushing him backwards. That was that.

He landed on his back, grimacing against the pain that slapped straight through his bones. He heard Katsushiro cry out, the cling of his sword as it landed behind him. Then he saw the gleam of her own sword flashing over his face.

The tip of the weapon sunk into the ground a few centimetres from his face. She was leaning over him, her face coated with a thin layer of sweat. Her red hair fell around his face like a curtain, cutting the world around him as it pooled around his head.

Inhaling slowly, he watched her watch him, lips set in a thin line, a pained emotion crossing her gaze for the first time since their encounter. The scars criss-crossing on her cheek looked even more real with the blood flowing under her skin, and when she spoke, he felt the prickles in his lungs dig deeper.

"He would have killed you, if he'd lived," she whispered, the corner of her lips twitching.

"Yes," Kambei answered slowly, and Omine closed her eyes, growing still.

He thought she would say something else, but after a few heartbeats she pulled away just as quickly, the red curtain parting to bring the good old world back.

She was slow to move away, her eyes lingering on his frame one last time before she turned around silently, passing a hurried Katsushiro.

Kambei remained a few seconds staring up at the starry sky before pulling himself into a sitting position, dropping his hands on his laps. Katsushiro had retrieved the sword and was kneeling beside, his expression one of concern and wonderment. He was quick to throw the retreated woman a murderous glare over his shoulder, though, before handing Kambei his sword. The older man pushed it away, getting to his feet. "It's yours, I told you."

Sichiroji and Yukino were soon by his side as well. "Well, I'm glad that didn't end with anyone's death. Still not too fond the way you have to enjoy your stay here, though."

Kambei offered Shichiroji an apologetic smile before looking past the blond, bearing his gaze into the redhead that had returned to the horse, now efficiently buckling it up. "She allowed me to live," he said, and with that he pushed past his friends.

"Why?" he asked as he crossed his arms, and Omine shrugged. "I'm not him. I don't need your death on my hands at all costs."

"And yet, you are driven by something of your own."

"Perhaps," she answered again, and Kambei smirked. He felt like he'd had a similar conversation once.

She was all ready to go, but before she could finally leap into the saddle, Kambei spoke again.

"Wouldn't you like to go to Kanna village?"

She glanced over her shoulder, her green eyes narrowed to slits. "That place?"

"Yes."

"What for?"

"His grave."

She looked at him again, her shoulder sagging an inch under what was clear exasperation, fatigue and a desire to leave as quickly as possible. But she still seemed to consider the option, her gaze averted towards a mysterious point. It felt like hours to Kambei before she finally turned fully to face him, the scars crisscrossing on her cheeks white against the flush under her skin.

"Is it me who wants closure, or is it you, Shimada Kambei?"


	3. JOURNEY TO THE PAST

Sichiroji pulled closer with his horse, leaning a little bit nearer to Omine who resisted the urge to lean away just as much. "So, you cannot simply prive us from the story of how you and Kyuzo met. Who was he to you, a brother, a friend, a lover? We want to know everything, and then again a little story will soothe the dullness of this long trip."

"Sichijori," Kambei said, the pronunciation of the name twisted halfway into a warning. "You didn't have to come."

"Nonsense," the blond replied. "I don't mind a little journey to the past. Right, Katsu?"

The green-haired boy answered with something like a sneer, turning his head away. He still seemed bummed about the fight and about having to travel with the red-head, but Sichiroji noticed a kind of shy-ness and reluctance to look the woman in the eyes. He could guess why.

Between them, Omine had closed her eyes exasperatedly, allowing the walk of her horse to lull her into thoughts. She wondered how much Kyuzo had talked about himself, if at all, to these men. It wasn't true that he lacked the words, despite his grave demeanour. She remembered the nights when he would speak to her, his lips a few inches from her face, reciting tales of his childhood in a low shush that would forever remain trapped between the thorny fingers of the listening rose bushes. But it had seemed to her that it was only in these moments, when he was close enough to murmur only, that he had ever dared to reveal fragments of his past and the challenges he had had to overcome growing up. Outside of this ephemeral confinement, he had always remained silent.

She could flesh out the day she had found him on the bloody battlefield as if it had happened yesterday, and she toyed with the reins, mulling the memories over. What exactly was she supposed to say, to uphold his memory properly? Would he even had liked being talked about? Everything between them had always felt like mutual understanding, any problem resolved and solution agreed on with a single exchanged look. He wasn't there anymore to consult.

She sighed quietly while the two men on each side of her began thinking she might refuse to speak to them.

"We met five years ago."

"Two years after the war," Sichiroji said quickly, and Omine nodded.

"He was still a bodyguard then?" Kambei added.

"Precisely," Omine breathed. "We happened to meet when he decided he felt like taking a break from it all; from the Magistrate, from Kougakyo. He had been assigned to track down a handful of Nobuseri that had gone rogue and stopped following the Emperor's rules. He tagged to a legion of other soldiers, but the fight was a major failure, and there were much causality. I presume in that moment he… grew exasperated with it all. He deserted the battlefield and they took him for dead, and that's how we… bumped into each other."

She carefully pondered her words as she omitted the fact he had literally escaped death by an inch, and how she had trudged through the sea of bodies and fallen metal debris to find him, his chest barely heaving under the weight of his breaths, his ribs broken. How she had hoisted him up on her horse and carried him back to her house, all because she was looking for a proper suitor to one of her blades. A human doll to equip with deadly weapons. She couldn't deny today that had been the right choice.

"I said he was welcome to stay for a few days, and he stayed for a while. I don't really know what to tell you, I lived alone then and was busy with work, I didn't mind him hanging around. And that was mostly what he did. He seemed almost alright about having nothing to do, no orders to answer to."

She remembered how he hadn't even left the house once after awakening, contenting himself with watching her work, petting Mushi, and spending long minutes examining the weapons hanging in the shop. He had sat in the garden and helped her make supper and tea, and at night they would sometimes talk of what they had both lost.

"I can picture him sitting in silence for hours, he used to do it all the time when we had meetings and tried to think what to do next," Sichiroji said, looking up at the spread of blue sky. "He never seemed in a hurry to do anything."

"You are a swordsmith, correct?" Kambei asked.

Omine shrugged. "Used to be, more like it."

Kambei remained pensive for a few seconds, before glancing at the red-head. "Kyuzo's twin blades, was it you then that…?"

"Yes," she answered. "I allowed him to leave with whatever weapon he liked. I happened to be particularly fond of the two katanas, and I'm glad he put them to good use. In those times it was rare to come across people who did not simply purchase weapons in order to look good and fearsome. "

"But what happened after?" Sichiroji asked with a grin, crossing his arms on the neck of the horse and leaning forth as if he was lounging on some kind of sofa. The animal complaining with a toss of its neck, nearly sending the blond over.

"Nothing that could particularly feed your craving for a kinky story filled with romantic tension and drama," Omine replied flatly, and Sichiroji burst out laughing.

The redhead rolled her eyes, a gentle pressure of her boots enough to make her horse speed up. "I doubt he behaved with me in any way that differed from the way he behaved with you. Eventually he returned to Kougakyo, resurfaced from the dead and resumed his position as bodyguard of the Magistrate. He would visit from time to time unexpectedly, when he felt like cutting himself from the world."

"Can't blame him for that," Kambei sighed, and they fell into silence as they rode.

.

The sun had set, and eventually Katsushiro straightened, turning to look at the others for the first time since the beginning of the journey. "I think we're nearby," he said before speeding off forward, leaving the three others to follow in his wake through the forest path. A few minutes later they emerged into the buoyant and green scenery of rice fields and small village houses, and Omine halted at the top of the hill, looking down.

If any of it had ever been ravaged by the hands of Nobuseri, it didn't look like it no more. The flourishing rice fields were a tapestried iconography of lush green bands of water, coloured red and orange by the setting rays of the sun. Men and women had their feet in the water and their backs to the sky, too consumed by the tasks brought by harvest season to call it a day. It looked, to Omine, like the most peaceful of villages, the happiest of simple people.

"Come," Kambei said. "They will be glad to see us."

_Me or you?_ Omine thought as she followed Sichiorji and Kambei down, Katsushiro already far ahead.

Glad maybe wasn't the right word, delighted more like it. Instantly recognized, the sight of the well-known men approaching was enough to make everyone call quit on the day's work, and soon enough Omine and the troupe of Samurai were encircled by men, women, and children hailing _'great samurai!_ '. Drinks, food, rooms to stay and a celebration were already assured before they had even set foot on the ground. Omine considered turning around and looking for the graves herself, not excited in the least about having to thread through social greetings. She had agreed to come only for Kyuzo. But she caught Kambei's eyes, and something in that gaze made her bite her own tongue and slide down the horse.

A girl with long dark hair and large brown eyes had appeared and was making her way towards them, the villagers parting quickly to let her pass. Something about her felt familiar, and as Omine looked at her more carefully she remembered the sight of her walking through the streets of Kougakyo, accompanied by two others, stopping any katana-wielding man to talk to him. She was pretty, the way most dark-eyed and brown-haired girls were, taller than Omine remembered, fuller in the curves too.

"Great Samurai, you're back," Kirara said gently, evident fondness showing in her eyes, her gaze resting on Katsushiro a moment longer.

"Priestess," Sichiroji said with a bow that made Kirara shake her head and laugh. "I'm not the priestess anymore, but that doesn't prevent me from welcoming you back. We are always glad to see you return, after what you did for us."

That's when her eyes moved and landed on Omine, who blinked, and found nothing to say.

"Kirara, this is Omine. A friend of Kyuzo's," Sichiroji intervened eagerly. "Can you believe the luck we've had of bumping into her?"

She seemed slightly confused by the word "friend" pronounced so closely to Kyuzo's name, and Omine couldn't blame her. Even she wasn't sure what exactly she'd been to the red-clad Samurai. The word "friend" didn't quite cover it. Back in the days, she'd come to accept him like an element of her life that just was, came and went, like rain, night, and the migrating birds.

"Well," Kirara picked up quickly, "seeing how there's no giants for you to fight today, and that we're officially done with this season's harvest, I'd say we celebrate and hear what you've been up to!"

_._

Seated before the fire with a cup of tea she was forcing herself to sip, Omine couldn't shake the impression that the ex-priestess girl was glancing much too often at her and Kambei whilst the green-haired boy shared the tale of one of his adventures. In return Omine kept glancing at the dark-skinned Samurai, wondering if she could decipher the reason of all this subliminal activity. Kambei remained oblivious, sipping his tea and eagerly granting the young warrior all of his attention.

Then there was the younger girl, the little sister. Who categorically couldn't keep her eyes off the red-head, and had purposefully slipped herself between Omine and Sichiroji. She could sense the girl's desire to speak like the weight of a thunderstorm in the air, and eventually she just looked down on her, raising a brow.

"Shoot."

It was the wrong thing to do. A large smile spread on her face and words came pouring out of her mouth.

"Did you really know Kyuzo? Were you like friends or something? He was always so quiet he seemed to be friendless, except when he joined us. Although he was still after Kambei's life. And he could be really mean and rude too, sometimes. Kiku always complained he was a kill-joy, although everyone agreed Kyuzo was really good at fighting. But maybe he had a soft side, did he? Were you like, together-together? He also never mentioned he had a girlfriend."

"Komachi!" Kirara explained, scrambling to apologize for her sister's interrogation. Everyone already had their eyes riveted on her, though, and Omine realized they were actually awaiting a sort of answer.

"I was his swordsmith," she replied, because it was true. "I made his katanas." Komachi frowned. "Oooooh. That's boring."

"Yes," Omine said with a smirk, "I think Sichiroji thinks so too."

The blond lifted his hands in the air in defence, and to Omine's relief, the conversation ran its course in a different direction. Eventually she was listening to the villagers recounting everything from the moment Kambei and his troupe had set foot in Kanna Village. She sat sipping her tea as the men and women around her walked down memory lane, witnessing the liveliness of their gestures granted by the freedom from fear, oppression, and misery. They seemed happy, and eternally grateful to the men who had fought in their stead. Even Komachi seemed to remember a lot, for a girl her age.

She wondered quietly if this sort of feelings had ever had an impact on him. On Kyuzo. If after each victory, he'd looked back on the villagers he was protecting and felt something. If he'd ever gained some pride or satisfaction, as minuscule as it could be, from doing something more lucrative than just following the magistrate around. She wondered if he'd eventually warmed up to the men with whom he fought, got to consider them as comrades, at least. She'd wished he'd come back, and told her about it. He'd never been much of a talker except in those moments during warm late nights, when she was half asleep and he thought she wouldn't hear all of what he felt like whispering in her ear. Those had been the times he'd only ever opened up, and she cherished the memories like a dried flower she feared would disintegrate to dust if she cradled it too tight.

With those thoughts she lost herself in the contemplation of the green bottom of her cup, snapping to attention when she recognized silence surrounding her. She hadn't started crying or anything, after all, and stared quizzically at the green-haired boy who seemed to be talking to her.

"Lady Omine… I've been meaning to tell you something."

His fists were curled tightly and pressed against the side of his knee, and his face had grown a shade redder. He seemed to be struggling for words, weighted by what she couldn't quite place. Guilt?

"Go on," she said, and he looked up.

"You seem to have been close friends with Kyuzo, and you came here seeking his grave. He was the best among us, and he died with three others."

Kambei sighed. "Katsushiro."

"No!" The boy exclaimed fervently. "I've been feeling guilty about this for the past two years. And now to realize that there was someone waiting for him to come back."

He stared directly into her eyes, and internally she reeled a bit, discomforted by the sudden tension floating in the room, and what she knew was coming.

"But you must know that… that his death, it was…"

Before he could say another word, Omine lifted her hand, palm up. Katsushiro froze, blinking.

"My brother and father," she said sternly, "both went to war at the same time, and they both died. When the war was over, men who had fought with my brother came to the shop to tell me my father and brother hadn't made it. Obviously. I asked how they had died, and they told me that my brother found himself on the ground after evading a deathly blow. Before he could get up, the foot of a Nobuseri crushed him the way we crush ants when we see them running on the floors of our homes."

The boy's face had paled, but at least she had his attention, and gotten his mouth sht.

"They couldn't tell me what killed my father. But, I don't think either of them got to die in the arms of a comrade with some last words of wisdom and a final glance at the sunset."

She stared pointedly at the last of the tea pooling in her cup, unfazed by the looks of pity directed her way.

"My point is, the way in which they died doesn't change the fact they haven't come back. It's the same for Kyuzo," she sighed, placing her cup on the floor. She managed a smile at the young samurai before getting up.

"If he hadn't gone with you at all, he wouldn't have found his freedom. And neither would have I. So you have my thanks, and that's all there is to say about it."

She excused herself with a slight tilt of the head, and slipped out.

_._

Omine knew that the graves weren't in the village. She had paid attention when entering, but then again knew that no one would have dared to bury warriors right within the uninspiring peasant settlement. She pulled her hood over her head and slipped into the shadows before anyone could come after her, borrowing a path through the tall grass, leading her away from Kanna village.

She was glad that, wherever she went, night never changed; not the way it veiled the canopy of trees, nor the way it awoke the fragrance of nocturne flaura. The stars remained the same too, and grew more visible as the sky turned from a gentle teal to a dark indigo. Alone, she could breathe again, think again. Opening her hands, she ran her fingers through the grass as she marched; keeping her eyes fixed on the starry ceiling, searching for the constellations her brother had taught her to distinguish. It was only at night that she wanted to think of the dead ones. And yet, these past few days those thoughts had followed her into the day.

The path transformed, transitioning from meadow to a forest that rose into the cliff, and soon Omine was trudging through the thick growth without a clear idea of where she was going. She quickened her pace, eager to attain altitude and find some kind of ultimatum. Sweating, heaving with each pant after the long climb, she emerged into open air. Turning, she found the cliff, and the graves lining its edge.

Four of them, each a mound of earth pierced by a weapon that had lost its glimmer. Her eyes found the two criss-crossing katanas, and something in her sank. Sank lower than it had ever in the past two years, spreading through her legs like venom, and turning everything within her heart cold.

" _This is not a gift, it is your ticket out of here. You will do these katanas justice. I've seen the way you fight, they are perfect for you."_

She approached the grave, knowing there was no body buried beneath. It was obvious someone had come up here to pay attention to them and prevent them from developing a thick crust of rust, but that had not been enough to shield them from the constant contact with nature's wrath. The blades she had spent months crafting had lost their sheen altogether, and their state had deteriorated too much to ever be used again.

She felt a strong desire to curl her fingers around the handle, feel something solid in her grip. Pull out the swords out maybe, and just run. Reclaim what was hers. Reclaim the only memory of him that still held material form, and belonged to her alone.

She pulled her fingers away, exhaling. She stood still for long minutes, staring at the landscape bathed in darkness spreading beyond the graves, down, down below the edge of the cliff. All there was to hear was the murmur of the wind and the slowing cadence of her heart. End of summer, beginning of fall. The time was close to when they had first met.

"Maybe if I had made you promise, you'd have tried harder to come back," she whispered, but the words rang false and tasted bitter. Even if she had known he would die, she wouldn't have asked him to return. That wasn't who he was, who she was meant to be. She put swords in people's hands and let them go, providing them with the tools that would lead them to victory.

Well, that was what she used to do. Ever since leaving her family home behind, she had wielded her own weapon and travelled the world, looking for a new reason to be, peeling away the layers of her identity that tied her to this country of foolish emperors and men hungry for power equalling the vastness of the sky.

Omine ran her eyes over the remaining graves, remembering just vaguely the image of all the others who had made up the rest of troupe. They were all strangers to her, but men who had shared something with the red-clad samurai. Something she couldn't understand.

The last part of him now belonged to a place in which she felt unwelcome, distant and unrelated to, and for the first time in many months she felt herself grieving again for the time when it was just the two of them.

She bowed in front of Kyuzo's grave, her long hair pooling on the ground, her eyes resting on the tip of her boots. She could feel the blood slowly rushing to her face, and still she wondered what she was doing. Why exactly she had come back, and accepted to re-live memories she had successfully distanced herself from in the past two years. She had never felt like she needed closure, and now she felt was as if she had stepped out of her house one last time, again. Lost at what she was meant to do.

A memory returned, one of a warm morning, smelling like coal and clay, like her workshop. A blade on her lap that she keeps polishing with fervent strokes of stone against metal. A noise loud and piercing, the way she likes it. Until she drops the work and rises to her feet, pulling the gloves away and stepping through the arched doorways and into the garden. Kyuzo, his chest rising and falling slowly as he sleeps, seated and leaning against the wall of the workshop, mushi curled up beside.

She had seized the opportunity to pass a hand through his blond hair, and quickly walked back into the house, stifling a chuckle and hoping he hadn't awakened.

These had been the days where she thought the only thing she could do was craft new weapons and wait for his return, and that it would be enough to make her happy.

"Thank you for being my friend," she whispered, closing her eyes, "and for giving me the courage to leave that dreadful house behind."

.

"I'm definitively getting too old to be chasing after you young ones."

Omine straightened and turned around slowly, not surprised to see Kambei leaning a hand on the trunk of a tree. Even when first meeting him face to face she had judged him as being the type of man that never let anything pass. The fact he had followed in her footsteps only meant he had just as hard of a time letting go as she did. Only she didn't. He was the one who had made her remember a past she had cut into pieces and neatly tucked away somewhere in her heart, a chapter of her life she had willingly terminated and hoped to be able to look back on with some measure of fondness… She hadn't realized till now how much the thought of those two blades left to rust, the very sight of it, made her want to be angry and cry.

Kambei straightened, regaining his composure much too quickly for someone complaining about his age and approached slowly, not particularly bothered about having intruded. The redhead looked away, loosening her grip on the handle of her katana. He came to stand beside her, running his gaze over the graves sadly.

"It takes a few decades to understand that life is all about letting go," he said, and Omine found herself agreeing.

"You know," Kambei continued, "there used to be a boulder here. I think he liked to come up here more often that I thought he did and perch on it to think about things." He looked down on her, and she maintained his gaze for a few seconds.

"I wanted to tell you that, out of all the things Kyuzo ever said about himself, which was as little as you can imagine, he hinted about fond memories coming from you."

Omine raised a brow, a smirk tugging at her lips, but allowed Kambei to continue. Clearly he was on a roll.

"I was lucky, he was unusually chatty that day," he continued. "And when I asked him next if he thought he'd ever be mourned by anyone… ' _There is only one person I'd want to be mourned by, but I'd prefer she not mourn me at all.'"_

"Two-faced jerk," Omine murmured, and Kambei laughed.

"He did mention something about hair as red as autumn's leaves. That's really the only clue I had to track you down. Luckily, old man Masamune was kind enough to lead me in the right direction."

Recognition flashed through Omine's face. "Hmm. So he's still alive… Good."

They remained standing in silence, staring at the graves.

"He was the only person that made me remember the past," Omine said all of a sudden. "And I guess I was the only one who made him forget the present." She crossed her arms over her chest, which offered little protection against the chilly mountain breeze. After all the years of silence, the need to confide in someone tugged at her heart like a string.

"Somedays I wish I had meant more to him. Enough to make him stay. But Kyuzo was not that type of man, and neither are you, or any kind of men that wields a sword for that matter. I didn't know yet I would have wanted him to stay, either. I was used to people just coming and going." She sighed, rubbing her cheek. "Sometimes I think I should have pretended to be in love with him, given him a reason to stay, or a reason to try harder to come back. But the longer I think about it, the more I realize it would have been unfair. The best warriors are those who are heartless, reminding them they can love is corrupting them and sentencing them to death."

It felt good to be talking about Kyuzo to someone, after spending two years re-inventing herself.

"We were both enamoured with what had been lost with the war. The respect for a warrior's soul, the taste of honour, the pride, the hope there would always be something redeemable about our lives that looked quite pitiful when we didn't have a sword in our hands. We were intoxicating each other with memories from the past whilst the world kept moving forward. We probably weren't that healthy of a company to each other."

She chuckled quietly, and it was the first time Kambei heard her laugh. He saw the glimpse of a woman, a young girl, that had once been spirited and witty. She couldn't even be older than her thirties.

"I have been sad, I think, ever since we defeated the Nobuseri," Kambei said, and the earnest in his voice made Omine glance at him. "A kind of unreasoned sadness that weights on you like a shadow. You might not always see it, feel it, but it's there. Eventually it grows on you, and you carry it with you, and it becomes part of who you are." He looked at her and at the waterfall of red hair running down her back, a small smile plastered on his lips. "Do I look sad to you, Omine?"

She brushed her cheek again, remembering how Kyuzo would sometimes run his thumb over it. He'd always have that unsatisfied look in his eyes when he did, the way a sculptor would look at a bad cut in his stone and wish he could do something to correct it.

"No sadder than any man who has returned from war and lost comrades to enemy swords." After a pause, she added: "You know what I think, Kambei? I think that Kyuzo didn't really know what it was that he wanted. He might have come with you because he thought he wanted your death by his hands, but I think what he truly wanted was to fight alongside you. He just didn't get the chance to realize it."

"Strange are the things a sword in your hands makes you do," Kambei sighed.

"A sword, uh?" Omine whispered. "Not in the right hands, it is just a regular scrap of metal." She turned her head, looking at the row of weapons erected like spikes along the lip of the cliff. "When I first met him, I cared little about who he was than what he could do with the swords I had given him. My swords. I wanted to secure my work instead of selling it off to brutes who didn't know the first thing about bushido. I was being selfish, really. I wanted him to advertise the worthiness of a real blade in a time when no one could care less, and in a time when I couldn't do it myself…"

She unsheathed her katana, deploying it in front of her. Kambei watched as she angled it so it caught the gleam of moonlight, the red-heads slim smile reflected in the blade.

"But to be perfectly honest, things have changed. I have changed. And I hate to admit the fact his death has freed me." She turned, looking straight into Kambei's gaze. "You could say he inspired me."

Something in the forest scared a flock of nocturne birds, and the winged creatures dove out of the trees, chirping in disarray. Omine looked up with a smile, seeming in that second almost relaxed, and happy. She sheathed her sword, turning her back to the graves.

"I have a favour to ask of you, Shimada Kambei."

.

From her saddle, she dropped the long bundle in Kambei's arms. "The reason why I came back to the country was to get this from the family house," she said as Kambei unrolled the cloth and pulled out the katana.

"It was the last sword my father ever made," Omine said. "I was planning on selling it back in the west, but I don't mind you having it. I don't have any sentiments to it, really."

"I appreciate you offering me this, but I can't take it for free," Kambei replied. "I am capable of a payment."

Omine smirked, her gaze amused. "Whatever you'll give me will be worth nothing in the west. Don't consider it like a gift, Great Samurai. Think of it as your… ticket back into the game."

Kambei pondered those words before covering the weapon again, a smile plastered on his lips. "Then I will hold on to it from now on and wield it with pride." He looked up at the red-head, who'ze gaze was lost in the horizon. The morning was warm and sunny, and the villagers of Kana village were assembled at the foot of the hill, saying goodbye. By the closeness of Katsushiro's stance to Kirara's, Kambei had guessed the young samurai would be prolonging his stay whilst he and Sichiroji returned to Kougakyo. He gazed down at them before looking back at Omine. "What about you?"

She smiled down at him, once again. "I have found a new name for myself, as well as people far in the west that I like. Disillusioned, hopeful fools that call themselves 'knights'. They want to build a new capitol in some empty place by the ocean, and I've decided I'd help them."

"It sounds like people who believe in a code of honour, if they find it fitting to consider themselves warriors."

Her smile remained, a breeze running through her long hair. Soon the leaves of the trees would veer the same color as her locks.

"I am glad I got to meet you, Omine," Kambei said, and she glanced down at him. "I am glad you made me come. I think... I didn't know how badly I needed a moment to say goodbye. But," she continued as she took the reins in her hands, "I am most likely never coming back."

"This is goodbye, then."

The smirk returned, another among many of the smiles she had offered him that day, and the most since meeting her. "There are chances I might see you later, or maybe never. But to be honest, tomorrow never knows."

He nodded, and they both looked at the little group of villagers and samurai at the feet of the hill. "Take care of the friends who are still alive, Shimada Kambei," Omine whispered as she glanced at him one last time before setting her horse into motion, turning her back to him and riding away. Kambei tightened his grip on the bundled sword and walked down the hill, back to the friends that had made it through everything alongside him.

**_FIN_ **


End file.
